Chapter Text
One year and seven months after Giorno takes control of Passione, she takes Polnareff up on his offer to meet her blood family, and boards a plane to Florida.
She boards with family already by her side; Polnareff, of course, who's been chatting her ear off about Jotaro ever since she mentioned visiting; Sheila E, as bodyguard and because her stand is very handy for more personal missions like this; and Fugo, because there’s still a distance between them, a space she can’t quite seem to breach, and Giorno yearns to bridge it.
She's aware she's being a bit selfish, taking valued employees with her for no reason but pure want, but she's learning to want things sometimes, things more physical and specific than vague dreams of making things better in the mafia.
Mista had initially complained about her large entourage, not for an actual important reason but for that they made a party of four altogether. Giorno said Coco Jumbo counted as a member of their party too, and lightly ribbed him about not treating animals like inanimate objects, and he had pouted but relented.
She would worry about leaving Mista in charge - yet despite his personality seeming contrary to such, he could actually be quite calculating when it came down to it. Plus, she's made friends and family of other capos, too, in time, so the burden of her trust rests in many hands. Either way, she thinks she's qualified to take a vacation.
Giorno reasons this all to herself as she sits on the plane with her fingers itching to do something; sign paperwork, or dial a contact, something that makes her feel useful. It's a long flight, though they naturally have first class, and while she wouldn't call it boredom exactly, something annoying scratches at the back of her mind, pulls on her throat and her heart and begs her to do something productive.
Polnareff, easily snuck through security due to Giorno having essentially the entire airport in her pocket, seems to pick up on this. He misreads it as anxiety, though, and looks sympathetic. “You ok there, boss?”
She smiles as best she can at him, trying to assure him it's alright, and he gives her a thumbs up and retreats back into Coco Jumbo. Giorno swallows and tries to distract herself by watching Sheila and Fugo.
They act kinda like siblings, Mista had said at some point. Giorno hasn’t had siblings, but she assumes acting like siblings is a good thing. Thinking this, she got them seats next to each other on the flight.
After the fifth consecutive time Sheila's hit him in the head with the popcorn she's eating, Fugo turns and gives Giorno a look that reads very clearly; you’re my superior and I trust your decisions and would never question you, but also, you’ve betrayed me on a fundamental level here. She stifles a giggle.
Sheila finishes her popcorn soon after, and with nothing left to entertain her, she instead decides to while the hours out by sleeping through them. Her head lolls onto Fugo’s shoulder as she falls asleep, and he looks torn between disgust and fondness as she drools on his shirt. Giorno gets a feeling this is part of what Mista meant by acting like siblings.
A long silence stretches between them. The strange feeling of restlessness overtakes Giorno again, and she tries not to twitch with potential energy.
Fugo clears his throat suddenly, looks purposefully at Giorno. She raises her eyebrows, a silent question and affirmation for him to go on.
"Uh, no offense or anything," he starts, voice quiet and humble. "But... why did you bring me along? Sheila's stand is actually helpful, and Polnareff wants to see his friend, but I really don't see my use here. Unless you're planning to gas Kujo's house."
Giorno pointedly makes eye contact and smiles innocently. Best to be clear about things. “I like you.” she says, plainly. “I want to get to know you better.”
Fugo struggles to maintain eye contact. Blinks, once, twice. “Oh.” he says eloquently, red rising to his face in blotchy patterns. “Uh. Thanks.”
She keeps smiling. "You're welcome."
Giorno thinks for a beat. "Hey. Talk to me."
"Pardon?"
"Talk to me, Fugo. This is a long flight, and I'm trying to restrain myself from doing paperwork.” She takes a moment to think, then switches over to her (much shakier) English. “I need to practice English, also. For speaking with Dr. Kujo.”
Fugo seems satisfied with this reasoning, and switches to English as well. His is much more polished than hers, which she supposes is a side effect of having actual money and access to tutoring. Much of Giorno’s English she picked up from various other con artists looking to expand their business to as many stupid American tourists as possible. Or Japanese tourists, apparently, she thinks, remembering the strange little boy she’d met during the entrance exam to Passione. It already feels like so long ago.
Fugo interrupts her thoughts. “Honestly, I’m glad Sheila’s asleep right now. She likes to make fun of my accent.”
Giorno smiles indulgently. “Oh? How so? Do you speak too Italian?”
Fugo shakes his head. “No, it’s- actually- My tutor was British. So I have a bit of a British accent. Sheila thinks it is very funny.”
Giorno hadn’t really noticed, but his English does have that British sound to it. She thinks it’s very interesting how accents are passed down the way they are, but fails to find the proper English words for it, so instead she just laughs politely.
She falls back to easier words, the type that you’re taught first and hang on to. “Did you check the weather? Will it be good?”
Fugo’s face scrunches up. “Depends on what you think is good. Florida is very hot. And humid. But we’re lucky - it’s nice and cool in November. We should be okay.”
“Good. Good. Mista packed many sweaters, we will need them?”
“Not exactly... Florida is very hot. In November, coolest temperatures are 15 degrees, maybe.”
Giorno widens her eyes. “What are the highest?”
“In November? 28, maybe. Still hot, for almost winter.”
“How do they live ?”
Fugo snorts. “I’m not sure. I much prefer to stay in Italy.”
Giorno is quiet for a moment. “Fugo, do you want to go here? You can say no. I understand.”
Fugo’s eyes widen, and he flusters suddenly. “No- I’m sorry if it seemed like that. I’m okay. This is... okay.”
She looks into his eyes, and watches him swallow nervously from the corner of her eye, but notes he doesn’t look away.
He’s being honest. It soothes her a little bit. “Okay.” She repeats. “Okay.”
They fall into silence, and soon after she falls to the urge to do paperwork. Fugo watches her hands move for a while, pretending he’s not, until his eyelids start to droop and eventually he slumps onto Sheila, who’s still fast asleep. Giorno sets down her pen to pull out her little digital camera, the one with ladybug stickers on it, and carefully lines up a photo. She clicks the button a few times, not exactly sure how much it takes to get the picture. It makes a satisfying click, which means she probably got it, and it feels good to save a snapshot of her family not only in her head, but on film.
- - -
Their hotel room has two beds.
This is, perhaps, just perhaps, a calculated move on Giorno's part. She's not sure how to approach... whatever it is she wants with Fugo, and so here she reverts to planning. Is logic something that works in matters of the heart?
Sheila's already claimed one of the beds, laying on her stomach with her legs kicked up like a regular teenage girl at a sleepover, instead of a superpowered teenage girl on a vacation with a mob boss.
Fugo, realizing the situation, flounders for a moment before seemingly making a decision. “I’ll take the floor.” He reaches for the little bedside phone. “I’ll ask if they have extra beddi-“
Giorno grabs his wrist, lightning-quick. Keeps her grip as gentle as possible. “It’s fine. We can share. I don’t think Sheila would be very enthused about having to do so.”
Fugo’s face starts turning red, in his typical uneven blotchy way. Sheila seems to be repressing laughter from her safe place on her own bed.
“Okay,” Fugo starts, but it comes out more as a strangled noise. Sheila snickers. He glares at her, and says more firmly, “Okay. That’s... cool.”
“Cool.” Repeats Giorno, and she sets her bag on the floor to begin unpacking.
Though when she turns her head, he’s looking elsewhere, she can feel Fugo’s eyes on her back as she unpacks. It’s not uncomfortable, just - amusing, almost. Giorno’s no stranger to people staring at her, but it’s somehow a bit different here. It feels good to want and be wanted.
The flight was long, and it’s already somewhat late. Sheila offers to stay up to keep watch before Polnareff points out that, being a spirit, he doesn’t have to sleep anyways and might as well keep watch instead. With that, Sheila flops on her bed, wraps herself up in an absurd amount of covers, and sets to snoring very quickly.
Fugo, squatting on the floor to pull something out of his bag, snorts at the sound. “At least someone around here’s getting good rest.” He says. Giorno doesn’t miss how he consciously lowers his volume, careful not to disturb said rest. It’s sweet, the little ways Fugo shows he cares.
He stands up, book in hand, and blinks. “Uh. Giogio.”
Giorno blinks right back. “What?”
“Do you... really need all those pillows?”
She pauses, looks around her at the small throne of pillows she’s accumulated. She had gotten so used to doing it she hadn’t really noticed. “Oh. I suppose I do.”
“Giogio,” His tone is laced with a laugh. “You’re going to drown in all those. You look like the an emperor on his throne.”
Giorno pouts. “Maybe I am.” She pouts as mirth dances in Fugo’s eyes. “It’s comfortable. I haven’t drowned yet.”
Fugo’s laugh comes bubbling out of him as he sits on the other side of the bed. “Just save some for me.”
Of course she’d thought of that. Two pillows remain on his side. Is that enough? She’d be willing to share...
Giorno sinks back into her throne of pillows, pulls the covers up around her. Fugo snorts again, straightens up one of his allotted pillows so he can sit back against it and read.
“You should get to sleep too.” Giorno says, the blanket she’s tucked just under her chin moving as she speaks. “You need it just as much as we do.”
Fugo still looks amused at her sleeping situation. “Oh, I’m not getting to sleep anytime soon. It’s just how things work. It’s better to entertain myself until sleep decides to be kinder to me.”
She frowns. “You have insomnia? You could have let me know... I’d be happy to help if I can.”
Fugo’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, and she watches red rise to his cheeks. Hm. Does ‘help’ have a different connotation than she thought it did? She meant something more like making warm tea or buying melatonin supplements. She’s had her own issues with troubled sleep in her time.
“I’ll- I’ll consider it.” He clears his throat. “For now I’m doing just fine with just my books and me.”
“Well,” Giorno says. “If you’re want for any other company, I’ll be around.”
Fugo’s blush climbs up his neck. Giorno can’t help her smile - she likes this a bit more than she probably should. She turns over to hide her grin, buries her face in a pillow. “Goodnight, Fugo.”
His voice has a note of tenderness in it when he responds, and her heart thumps in her chest at the sound. “Goodnight, Giorno.”
She slips into sleep thinking about funny things, like pillow emperors and sleepytime tea.